Nadia
I work to calm my breath as we approach Rue’s Lounge, the pub where Flynn and Story’s band plays on Thursday nights.
Crowds aren’t my thing. I avoid going places where someone might accidentally touch me. The worst, though, are nighttime crowds in places where people are drinking. Because the chances of getting touched skyrocket.
But I rode over with Maykl, the doorman at the Kremlin. He’ll protect me from unwanted attention. He looks about as fierce as Oleg, Story’s giant mute boyfriend with bulging muscles and crude tattoos covering his arms.
I know Adrian tasked him with keeping an eye on me while he’s gone, and he’s done a good job. I also know Adrian probably threatened to cut his balls off if he touched me. He doesn’t even look me in the eye.
Honestly, while I feel safe with him, it’s also uncomfortable.
But then, I’m uncomfortable with most people, so that’s not unusual. Even Adrian can make things worse for me.
It’s like he’s holding on to my trauma even more tightly than I am. I want to let it go, but it seems hard when he won’t.
Hell, I know he’s off somewhere right now trying to hunt down the man he believes is responsible for my four months of pure hell. As if killing one man would take away the evil in the world. As if it was just one man who tortured me. One man who touched me against my will.
It was so many of them.
But Adrian couldn’t hunt down every one of them, so he went after the leader. A guy who probably doesn’t even know of my existence. It’s foolish, really. Probably dangerous.
We step inside, and I try to keep my gaze from zooming straight to the stage. Instead, I search the tables near the front of the stage where I know Oleg will have parked in advance, his bulky presence signaling to everyone his claim on the lead singer of The Storytellers. Our other neighbors from the building will gather there with him.
I find them right awayNikolai and his girlfriend, Chelle, are sitting with Oleg along with Sasha and Maxim. Adrian’s bratva brothers and their women.
I’m lucky he found such a tight-knit community. That they took me in despite my phobias and mistrust. Still, I don’t feel like they’re my friends. Like Adrian, they view me with pity. They remember my first months in the Kremlin when I screamed and clung to the elevator bar when Adrian tried to get me out of the building. They’re careful with me. Sympathetic. Understanding.
Suffocating.
Finally, I let myself look to the stage. The music hasn’t started yet, but the band members are setting up.
The microphone crackles and pops as Story’s brother Flynn turns it on and bumps it against his lips. “Nadia’s in the howse,” he calls.
The little wings attached to my heart start to beat and flutter.
Flynn’s wearing a light blue knit cap and a vintage Dead Kennedys t-shirt. I know it’s vintage because I heard him telling a fangirl all about it the last time he wore it. It belonged to his dad, who was a popular local musician in the 80s.
I send a shy smile his way and wave, which makes the groupie girls who have also shown up early turn and stare with total hatred.
Flynn is the only person who doesn’t assume I’m fragile. Who makes me forget how tiny and brittle my life has become. And also who makes me remember.
He’s the reason I managed to get myself out of the building. Adrian had been trying for months and months to coax me out of the apartment and out of the building.
I’d left the apartment only to clean the building because Adrian’s pakhan had offered me a job, and I wanted to contribute. I bumped into the beautiful, carefree Flynn leaving his band’s rehearsal. He’s everything I’m notunburdened. Happy. Confident in a jocular, easy way. He invited me to come and hear the band play, and I found myselfimpossiblyaccepting the invitation. Suddenly willing to work on and improve my English. It had taken me several more weeks and aborted attempts to actually make it to the show, but I finally did. Now I’m rewarded every time with the golden boy’s seeming delight to see me.
He doesn’t know who I am or what happened to me.
He thinks I’m an ordinary girl who emigrated from Russia. And honestly, that’s the biggest gift. I almost don’t want to know him better because once he finds out my story, he will put the gloves on, like everyone else.
And just for now, I like to have one person who makes me feel normal.
Maykl and I take two seats at Oleg’s table. I bob my head and smile shyly at everyone, avoiding eye contact and actual speaking.
“Nadia, you came out!” Sasha exclaims, throwing her arms wide. She’s always larger-than-life exuberant, which makes me feel even smaller.
“I did.”
Nikolai leans forward. “Any word from Adrian?” He keeps his expression casual, but I sense the tension behind it. Everyone’s been asking about Adrian. They’re worried, I think, but don’t want me to know.
“I spoke with him this morning. He is fine.”
“Did you let him know Ravil”
“Da.” I bob my head. “I told him. He said he would call.”
Nikolai frowns.
“Is he in trouble?”
The frown disappears. “Adrian?” He scoffs. “No. He can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.”
“Are you lying to me?” Being mentally unstable has advantages. One of them is being overly direct when I want to be.
Nikolai’s girlfriend Chelle’s gaze snaps to Nikolai’s face to hear his answer.
He hesitates, and my heart starts to pound.
Maxim answers for him. “He’s been known to make rash decisions in certain situations. We just want to be sure he has a chance to talk his plans through with me or Ravil or someone with a level head who can help assess risk.”
I fight to swallow and nod.
Rash decisions.
Risk.
My blood starts to pound in my temples, and I feel a bit lightheaded. Adrian’s in trouble.
Oh God, what if something happens to him because of me? I wouldn’t be able to go on.
Sasha elbows Maxim. “You worried her,” she accuses. To me, she says, “The bratva has his back. Nothing will go wrong.”
I’m trembling though. Feeling a little light-headed.
I probably should go.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I jump, ready to scream until I hear my name on his lips again. “Nadia.”
Flynn’s standing behind me, a dimpled grin on his face. There are two fangirls standing behind him, seeking his attention, but he’s focused only on me.
I suck in a deep breath. I still feel dizzy but for a different reason now.
“Flynn.”
He leans over and touches his cheek to mine for a side-kiss. The kind where your lips kiss air but your faces touch. “I’m glad you made it out.”
For one hot second, the ground wobbles beneath my feet. He knows I have agoraphobia. But then I realize, he just means out to the show. Not out of the building.
“Of course,” I say as if I have an active social life. “I love to hear you play.”
“Hi, Flynn.” One of the fangirls interrupts.
He ignores her. “Hey, there’s a party afterward, if you want to hang out?”
“No,” Maykl growls beside me, and I want to kill him, even though I know I’d never be able to handle an after-party.
Flynn’s brows pop, and he looks Maykl’s way. “I’m sorryare you guys together?” He holds his palms out. “I totally didn’t mean to”
“No,” I say quickly. “He’s just my ride.”
“Well, I can ride you to the party.”
“Nobody’s riding her,” Maykl snarls.
“Back off, muscles. It’s a figure of speech.” Even though Flynn is slender to Maykl’s bulk, graceful where Maykl is jerky and hard, I suddenly believe Flynn wouldn’t back down if it came to a fight over me. The sharp look of irritation he sends Maykl carries more aggression than I’ve seen from him before.
“Easy, boys,” Maxim says smoothly, his relaxed posture remaining unchanged. To Maykl, he says, “Nadia’s okay.”
First time anyone’s said that in a long time.
It’s refreshing. Empowering, even. I toss my braid over my shoulder and give Flynn a genuine smile. “I can’t tonight, but ask me again?”
“Yeah. Totally.” He holds my gaze a moment with that pirate smile of his, and everything in me turns warm and sloshy.
“Flynn, where’s the party?” The pain-in-the-ass girl behind him tries again. I want to tell her to fuck off, but even if I did, there’d be five more behind her.
And that’s why even if I did learn to manage the agoraphobia, I can’t ever get my hopes up over Flynn.
He’s a total manwhore. A player. And the more popular The Storytellers get, the more groupies he has throwing their panties on the stage for him.
He’s the definition of heartbreak.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze and winks before he turns to address his harem, and I hide my blush by ducking down to rummage in my purse for my phone.
It’s fine. Flynn is a fantasy, and that’s the realm where he needs to stay. Getting any closer than we are would ruin it.
And right now, I need all the escapism I can get.